


Velocity of Motion

by krabapple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krabapple/pseuds/krabapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Remus Lupin meets Fenrir Greyback, and three when he doesn't, though his presence is pervasive all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velocity of Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Reversathon 2007.
> 
> Talk of Greyback and his way of living as a werewolf, which can be a bit brutal. Depiction of Remus Lupin's biting by Greyback as a child.
> 
> Recipient's request listed at the end of the story.

Remus Lupin has spent his entire life running.

Sometimes he runs toward things; more often he is running away. Occasionally he runs around things, or through things, or behind them. Very rarely, he runs into them.

Most of the time, he just runs.

He finds it ironic, then, that he should choose this time, this place, to stand still.

To stop.

This time, other people are the ones who are running, back and forth, to and fro, in and out of Grimmauld Place as if the house itself was on fire.

Remus Lupin, though, just stops, and waits, listening for the front door to open or a foot to fall on the stair, for the dew from the grass to soak through the knees of his trousers, for the clouds to move away, for lightning to strike the willow in the garden.

None of these things happen, of course, but still Remus crouches. Waiting.

*

Four boys, one girl. Out after dark. They are playing, some made up game that children play that no one has ever thought of before and that no one will ever think of again. Remus is among them, and while he isn't quite happy, he's content, and that's enough. They are quite far from his house, quite far in six-year-old terms, at any rate. Far enough from the sunny yellow shutters and the glow of candles in the window that Remus feels the thrill of being just a little bit dangerous. The other children don't understand why Remus' house is lit with candles. All Remus knows is that that is the way his mum likes it, and that's good enough for him.

There is a rustling in the bushes. The snap of a twig, the jostle of leaves brushing up against one another. The girl stops laughing. The boy Remus is scuffling with suddenly stops, and Remus is caught off balance, staggering slightly in the cool air, the sleeve of his jumper tearing slightly.

A large creature appears, something like a dog, or at least that's what Remus thinks it is. As one, the other children turn to run, some instinct driving them away, feet intent on carrying them down the hill. Remus hesitates for a fraction of a second; his feet don't have any instinct, and his brain has told him that he heard once not to run away from dogs, because that only makes them mad. Or maybe it's because then the dog will think you're playing a game with him, only you're not, and then you get hurt. Either way, Remus' brain overrides the instinct of a child for just that one instance, until the dog is close enough to scare Remus.

That's when he runs, when he's scared, and he's a little ashamed of himself even as his trainers trample the grass underneath them that he let his fear rule out of over his logic. Even then, he still isn't that far behind the other children, all of them pelting down the hill at top speed, but his house is the last one in the row. He stumbles, trips, falls; suddenly he is down on his knees, and they are scraped, even through his trousers. Already blood and grass are mixing together.

Tears prick at his eyes but he bites his lip and blinks hard. He's a big boy, and big boys don't cry when they fall down.

He's forgotten about the dog in the haze from the fall, but he suddenly remembers when he feels the teeth sink into his ankle, the fierceness of a jaw intent on cracking bone.

The girl screams.

That's what attracts the adults, all the neighbors. House door after house door opens and bursts of light begin to hit the street from lamps and light bulbs. The light from Remus' own house is more muted because of the candles, but he looks up to see his mum silhouetted in the doorway. She disappears for a moment and then returns, carrying something in her hand, and she starts down the porch steps.

The dog lets go of Remus, stunned by the light of civilization, but doesn't retreat fully.

Tears are running down Remus' face now, but he doesn't even notice. Some of the other adults are talking now, fast and loud; the other children have raced into parents' arms, but Remus is still on the ground, his leg throbbing and his knees aching, and he is scared to move in case the dog bites again.

His mother approaches carefully, holding out the stick she sometimes uses to do things. She is not looking at Remus, but at the dog. She doesn't get very close. Suddenly she says something under her breath, and light jets out from the stick, hitting the dog squarely in the muzzle. The dog yelps in pain and steps back. Remus' mum does the same thing again and again and again, her voice and the lightning from her wand getting louder and brighter, until the dog finally gives up, looks at the crowd one last time and runs back up the hill into the woods behind the rows of houses.

When the dog finally goes, Remus' mum drops to her knees in front of him, and starts wiping his tears away with her thumbs. "Oh, Remus," she says, and a sob breaks out of Remus' chest, and he doesn't even care that he is crying, and that everyone can see, because it hurts and his mum is here.

He won't remember later that his mother had to Obliviate the entire neighborhood before she picked him up and took him to their house. He won't remember the spell she used on the wolf, nor will he remember that she lit the world with a soft "Lumos" as she looked at his knees, at his ankle, in the darkness.

He won't remember that she was crying, too.

*

Remus is caught among the throngs of children running everywhere. He risks a rather panicked glance at his mum, who laughs and ruffles his hair. "Don't worry so much, Remus," she says. "It will be all you have ever wanted."

So far, it is nothing Remus has ever wanted, unless he's always wanted chaos and people talking too loudly and a mass of strangers bumping into him at every turn. He is excited, or was, but it's true that he wishes it was all a bit more . . . orderly. Remus is barely used to anything other than his mum and dad and their cat, and all this seems a bit much.

Will he really have to live with all of these people?

But his mum is happy, happier than he remembers her being in a long time, and his dad is so proud Remus is almost afraid the buttons on his shirt will spontaneously burst because his dad is so puffed out, so Remus only smiles a bit, a little watery, as he hugs them one last time and attempts to board the train. Even that simple act takes him a while; the full moon was only three days ago, and he is still feeling a bit wobbly, so it is harder than he expected to lift his new trunk up the steps of the train all by himself. The new scars on his arms force him to wear a new oxford and jumper, and it is a warm September 1st; Remus feels out of place and self-conscious as the children swarming around him are dressed in shirt sleeves and t-shirts.

Even so, self-conscious and wobbly or not, Remus turns just as he is about to enter the train completely and waves. His parents wave back, and he feels somewhat fortified by their affection.

He feels better right up until he turns around and runs smack into a tall, lanky boy with dark hair and glasses.

"Ooof," the boy says, stumbling back.

"Sorrysorrysosorrysorrysorry," Remus says, sure that the next seven years have all been dashed in one moment of carelessness.

The boy straightens his glasses and smiles. "Not to worry, mate. Train's about to leave the station -- you should find a compartment."

Remus doesn't think the boy looks any older than he is, but he must be, because he seems to know a lot about the Hogwarts Express. Remus nods and mumbles his thanks, and the boy steps to the side, letting Remus pass. Remus is halfway down the corridor when a shouted "Hey!" gets his attention and he turns around.

The boy with the glasses is still standing there, hands buried in his pockets, chin poked out just slightly. "Um, if you wanna . . . you can share a compartment with me. My stuff's there already, and there's room."

Honestly, Remus is terrified at the prospect but he nods anyway before he can stop himself. "Er, sure. Yeah. Yes. I'd be pleased."

The boy's mouth quirks, but he walks over and leans down to help Remus with his trunk. "James Potter," he says, and that is all Remus will ever get by way of introduction to James Potter. After that, it's just full-on James, always.

Remus shifts his end of the trunk in his hands. "Remus Lupin."

They walk down the corridor, balancing the trunk between them.

*

Boys running across the grounds, laughing. Breathless. It is the day before the last day of term, second year, and they are Gryffindors, nearly men, and heady with their success.

They have also just cast a spell to overflow the toilets and sinks and bathtubs and showers and, really, any and all plumbing fixtures in the Slytherin lavs, and they are running partly from the law in the form of Professor McGonagall, who will surely see to it that they spend most of their upcoming third year in detention.

But mostly they are running because they are done with classes, and it is a gorgeous June day, and they can, so they do.

Sirius runs nearly to the edge of the lake and then flops down onto the grass on his back, chest heaving from running, a stitch in his side from laughing. James plops down not too far away, of course, on his stomach, and pushes up his glasses with both hands. Peter sits not far from James, so it is up to Remus to complete the circle, and he does, flopping down and then onto his side, propping his head on his hand, arm balanced on his elbow.

James is across from him, contentedly chewing on a piece of grass. James has a thing for chewing grass, and Remus giggles softly to himself as he remembers Sirius saying James must be part cow because of it.

He will miss them over the summer.

There are small waves rippling up onto the shore of the lake and Remus is lost in the sound for a moment, listening as the waves crest on the soft, pebbly sand of Hogwarts Lake. For a moment all is peaceful and quiet, still, caught in this bubble, this spell, of sun and grass and breathlessness.

Predictably, it is Sirius who breaks everything.

"We know about you, Remus," he says, as casually as if he were commenting that the sky is blue.

If it is not for James' hiss of, "Sirius," Remus might have pretended he doesn't understand. Except that he does, and he could swear that the sky has suddenly become gray and overcast.

"Okay," he says, and stands up to walk away. And he will walk, he tells himself, he will¸ and spare himself that last vestige of utter defeat and not run, not run, far and fast, away from the boys who are no longer his friends.

Remus has just enough time to pick up a foot before he hears Sirius say, "Oh, you utter berk," and then suddenly Sirius has gotten up and launched himself at Remus. Sirius gets a great hold around Remus' knees and pushes, the momentum of his tackle bringing both boys down in a tangle of hands and knees and arms and legs and feet, until Sirius maneuvers them into a position where he is literally sitting on Remus' chest.

Remus finds this makes it most difficult for him to run away, and his cheeks flame scarlet in shame.

"We don't care, you big nancy," Sirius says, arms crossed against his chest, daring Remus to defy him.

There's a loud sigh from somewhere to the left, and the sound of shuffling as James comes into view. "That's not true, Sirius!"

"What's not true?" Peter asks.

James' head turns, his glasses catching the sunlight. "That we don't care that Remus is a werewolf."

Now that someone has said it out loud, Remus feels that his guts have been opened and splattered upon the Quidditch pitch for the entire world to see.

"But we don't!" insists Sirius dogmatically.

"Yeah, I don't care," Peter adds.

Both Sirius and Peter turn a rather thunderous gaze onto James, who sighs again, long-sufferingly.

"Of course we don't care. In the sense that, well, that it doesn't matter to us if Remus is a werewolf. He's still Remus. But we worry about what happens on the full moons, right? About him being sick? Remember?" James chides. Remus is suddenly strikingly reminded of McGonagall in that moment. He doesn't think James would appreciate the comparison.

"Oh. Right," Sirius says, still not moving from Remus' chest. Peter mumbles something similar.

Remus is already tired of this conversation. All he wants to do is go home. "What?" he asks.

Sirius shifts a bit, and looks down at Remus. "We figured out that you're a werewolf. And we've done some reading. And we don't like it."

James coughs.

Sirius rolls his eyes, and were the situation not so dire, Remus would have laughed. "You know, always disappearing, visiting your sick mum or grandfather or aunt. Or getting sick yourself. Every month. At the same time. Doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure things out, you know."

"Explains how you figured it out then," James snickers, and Peter outright laughs.

Sirius spares a glare in their direction, but continues.

"What we're trying to say, Lupin, is that we don't care that you're a werewolf. That dark creature stuff is a pile of rubbish. You're still Remus. You're still our friend."

Twelve year old boys don't cry at being told they have friends, but Remus Lupin very nearly does in this instance. Sirius' weight on his chest, and therefore his vital breathing functions, is probably what stops him.

"But we worry about you going wherever you do alone. And you're always so pale and sick and hurt when you come back," James picks up.

"Yeah, it's not fair, Remus," Peter continues.

"So, we wanted you to know that we know so that you wouldn't have to worry about us anymore. And 'cause we want to help you," Sirius concludes.

For a long moment, Remus can't speak. "There's nothing you can do to help me," he finally says when he can.

Sirius' eyes sparkle, and suddenly Remus doesn't know whether to be inspired or afraid. "We'll just see about that," he says, finally standing up. Remus stands up, too, brushing grass out of his hair.

Sirius catches his eye again. "We'll see," he repeats, before James tries to push him in the lake, Peter, and eventually even Remus, laughing at the spectacle.

*

It's not a full moon night, but the four of them are in the Shrieking Shack. Peter is sprawled on the floor, his firewhiskey getting the best of him already; he's quietly singing ballads from the wizarding wireless underneath his breath, though they are becoming increasingly audible. James and Sirius are still sitting at the foot of the bed, passing a mug of vodka from Durmstrang between them. Remus is on his back, with his head on the pillow; his bare toes are tapping the harmony to Peter's latest song choice on Sirius' knee. Sirius keeps batting his hand at Remus' foot, but Remus merely curls his toes to avoid the slap and keeps right on tapping. It's the last night before they go home for summer hols; it will be their last summer before returning for their last year at Hogwarts, and they are just drunk enough to feel nostalgic and maudlin in the way only sixteen year olds can feel nostalgic and maudlin.

Remus is not looking forward to going home this summer, though he almost never does. Fenrir Greyback has moved his pack near their town, and this has caused his mother's voice to lower, get softer, and his father not to speak much at all. His mum goes shopping only to find Greyback's mate among the produce; his dad, who is already ill, goes to the doctor where more and more people are being treated for cuts and scratches and canine bites. Few of them will become werewolves like Remus, but Remus hasn't remembered a time this tense since he was six, since he was bitten. The strained atmosphere of his house now reminds him of then: the vague sounds of yelling between his bouts of fever; the crashing of tea cups and saucers his mother picked up by hand off the floor; the slam of the front door as his father went in and out, announcing his presence at all times. They'd kept the truth from him for years, who had bitten him and why, until the past winter, when Greyback's reappearance forced them into whispered confession.

He won't have his friends at home, either, and that makes Remus more than a little scared. James and his family will be touring Italy; Sirius will be stuck inside the only gothic Victorian neighborhood left in London; Peter has plans to visit his cousins in Kansas. Remus is already planning hours and hours out of the house. The local library seems like a very good option; Remus can run even when sitting absolutely still. He knows he won't be able to stand being outside for long, and the woods will be nothing but poison, filled with Greyback's pack and their scavenging, thieving and brutal way of life.

Remus isn't tempted to that life at all; he runs wild only with the strangest pack ever to exist – a stag, a dog and a rat, and then only briefly can he ever be free. This summer, full moons will mean the shed in the back garden and iron chains on the door reinforced by his mum's magic. Full moons this summer will mean the howling of others besides himself, the full bass of grown male wolves, and the shriller sound of the females.

It makes Remus shiver just to think about it.

Whether Sirius feels the shiver or just because the spirit moves him, he hands the mug of vodka back to James and crawls up the side of the bed, coming to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus. Remus' stomach does the usual flip-flop at being this close to Sirius, and his heart starts to speed up, pumping blood faster and faster through his veins, but Remus works hard not to show any of this on the outside, and so he turns to Sirius with a carefully cultivated half-smile on his face.

But Sirius' face is surprisingly grave, no gently teasing light in his eyes or smile on his lips. Sirius' eyes, though, are light like moonlight when he says, "I'm going to come visit you this summer, Moony."

Remus smiles the smile of the cheerfully resigned. "Sure you are, Padfoot."

"Sure I am," Sirius repeats and suddenly leans forward, planting a gentle and chaste kiss on Remus' cold forehead.

*

Remus had thought it would be colder. It is only mid-March, a few days after his twenty-first birthday. He's not sure if it's because of the hike through the winding woods near northern Scotland, or if he's picked up something and is running a bit of a fever, but Remus is quite warm, and he had shed his coat long ago, wool gloves stuffed in the pockets. He misses London, where it is cold, where he could be spending the day chatting with Lily and watching Sirius play with Harry.

Instead, Remus is gathering attention to himself, something he never likes. He's not unaware of the stares that follow him up the slope of the hill; the way the women hiss under their breath and the children are dirty and barefooted. The men barely allow Remus to walk through the camp site. Some literally growl, some block him slightly with broad shoulders, some hands or elbows push and jab until Remus can feel the bruises.

Still, no matter how much the pack dislikes him, they still allow him passage. They know he is one of their own kind, though they mark him as a traitor. He's a wizard, and therefore an enemy. But they all know who he came here to see, and not one of them will interfere in their pack leader's business.

Remus is surprised when his journey ends and he finds Greyback not upon some hand-made throne, or deep into some dark, damp cave. Instead, Greyback is sitting on a rough patch of ground sorting out good firewood from bad. He looks up as Remus approaches, and grins. Remus' stomach reaches into his throat with a jolt, and he tastes acid. He doesn't vomit, but he doesn't smile, either.

"Remus Lupin. It's good to see you again," Greyback says, and Remus winces at the use of his name, and at the strange courtesy.

Remus doesn't answer at first, and he doesn't miss that Greyback's grin isn't friendly -- it's territorial. Greyback gestures for Remus to sit, and he does so reluctantly, finding a stone big enough to sit on nearby. Greyback allows Remus to take the higher ground, though his eyes flash a warning Remus isn't too human not to catch.

"Dumbledore sent you," Greyback says, and it's not a question.

Remus finds his voice. "Yes."

"Such a waste of time."

"Yes," Remus says again.

"Still, you'll do anything for him, won't you?" Greyback observes.

"That's not a topic for discussion," Remus answers, trying to sound resolute and firm, but even he hears the tremor in his voice.

"You think not?" Greyback shakes his head. "My dear boy, that's the only topic I'm willing to discuss."

Remus' hands shake at my dear boy, but he tries to hide it; he thinks he's fairly successful.

"The great, all-mighty Dumbledore," Greyback says, not waiting for, or perhaps not expecting, an answer from Remus. "Thinks he knows what's best for all of us."

"And you think Voldemort does?" Remus asks, real conviction in his voice this time.

Greyback smiles again, almost indulgently. "Of course not. Voldemort is just another wizard. It is not up to him or any other wizard to decide our futures."

"We're wizards, too," Remus says.

"We are werewolves, Dark Creatures. We are separate from them. Better than they are. Can they feel the pull of the moon, or the way the grass smells before dawn?"

"You don't think we're better than wizards," Remus counters.

"What makes you think not, Remus?"

Remus winces at the use of his name. "I think you hate wizards because they turn against us, because they hate and fear us, and that makes you hate and fear them."

To Remus' surprise, Greyback laughs. It's a rough sound, as if it's not used very often. "You would know all about that, wouldn't you, Remus?"

"I know nothing about that."

"No? When was the last time you held down a job? Or were given a lease in your own name? Or didn't wear long sleeves in the summer out of fear of discovery?"

"I don't need those things," Remus says, and even as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it's a lie. "I have my friends," he adds, and he knows that is the truth.

"Ah. Your friends." Greyback sits back. "They'll never really trust you, you know."

"They've always trusted me," Remus replies.

"So you think. But wizards always turn against us in the end. Always. Your friends will, too."

"No."

"Mark my words, Remus Lupin, and one day you'll know the truth of them."

Remus shakes his head. "I don't believe that."

"You should. It will cause you less pain in the end."

"You don't care about my pain."

Greyback shrugs. "Not unless it brings you to join me, no."

"My friends made me who I am. They won't betray me."

Greyback laughs again, and this time there's no mistaking the steel in it. "No. I made you who you are. And even I would betray you in the time it takes me to have my teeth at your throat."

At that, Remus stands. He had always known this mission was futile, but now he can present the truth to Dumbledore. "The pack will let me pass as I leave?"

Greyback nods. "The pack will let you pass. They are under my orders." He pauses. "Give my regards to your father."

"My father is dead."

"Just as well," Greyback says. "I never liked him anyway."

Remus pulls on his coat as he leaves, finally chilled to the bone.

*

Staring up at the leaky ceiling of a youth hostel in Amsterdam on the night of November 1, 1981, Remus reflects with numbness that in the end, Fenrir Greyback was right.

*

This time, it is unbearably hot, a scorching day in a town near Dublin. Remus is panting slightly from both the summer heat and from running several feet down the high street. He's been scouting out locations, but Remus was surprised to see his prey this soon, and this suddenly.

He's almost upon Greyback before the other man even sees them, and Remus fleetingly thinks Greyback must be losing something in his old age. Then Greyback turns to face him, hair wild and eyes a bit feral, and Remus thinks that Greyback has lost more than just his ability to sense his surroundings.

Even still, Remus is startled at Greyback's grin and the strength of the grip on his arm as the other man drags him into a nearby alley. One thing Remus doesn't feel, however, is fear, even as Greyback retains his firm hold in the dank, stale air of the small alley. There's nothing Greyback can do to him that's any worse than what he's done before, except to kill him, and Remus feels dead enough already that real death doesn't matter much to him anymore.

"Still Dumbledore's errand boy, I see," Greyback nearly hisses.

"Still just as full of hatred, I see," Remus replies evenly.

Greyback pulls back, considers. "For Dumbledore, yes."

"Well, you hate my master, and I hate yours. That makes us about even, I expect," Remus answers.

"I have no master." Fire strikes up in Greyback's eyes.

"That's not what the pack says. They say even you bow to a new leader."

"What would you know of my pack?"

"Enough," Remus replies. "Enough."

"I'll find out who is talking, and make sure there's not enough left of them to talk again."

Remus shrugs. "I only expect as much."

"That doesn't bother you?" Greyback, for the first time since Remus has talked with him, sounds surprised.

Remus shrugs again. Fifteen years ago, it would have. Even ten. But now: "Every war has causalities."

Greyback raises his eyebrows. "Well. You would know all about that, Lupin. Black died, what, about a month ago? Six weeks?"

Remus acknowledges this with a tilt of his head, but doesn't trust his voice to answer.

For a moment, the only sound in the alley is that of the two men breathing. Then, Remus speaks. "What is he offering you? Housing? Provisions? A steady food supply?"

"I don't need any of those things."

"The amount of food you and your pack have been stealing from the smaller vendors begs to differ."

Greyback doesn't argue, but his mouth sets in a firm, white line. "None of that is enough to make me align with a wizard."

Remus nods. "I thought as much. Dumbledore thinks it's a matter of food, or drink, or shelter."

"But you don't."

"No, I don't," Remus agrees. "I know better. Voldemort must be giving you something else, something you value."

"The Dark Lord only gives me what I want most of all," Greyback says.

Remus thinks for a moment, then chokes back bile. "Children."

This time, it's Fenrir Greyback who shrugs. "Children. Men, women. Prey."

"He wants a werewolf army."

"No, Lupin. I want a werewolf army."

"Enough to side with Voldemort?"

"More than enough. Besides, your mealy Order kind are easy pickings."

Remus' hand clenches into a fist, then relaxes. "If Voldemort gets rid of everyone who is not a pureblood, and you get rid of all the wizards, then who is left?"

Greyback's smile is nothing more than feral. "Just us, Lupin. Just us."

"I'm included in that group, am I?"

"Of course you are, Remus." This time, Greyback's smile is close to sincere, and it makes Remus shudder even in the heat. "You are so very close to being my greatest achievement. The only werewolf who is also a fully certified wizard. Leave the wizarding world behind, and you'd be the only one strong enough to be my successor."

"That's not a future I want." Even in his grief, this is the truth.

"You think not? Join my pack, and then decide."

"You must be desperate if you want me. I should be an abomination to you."

"Just the opposite. You have power you don't even know, power that in my hands would make our kind invincible."

"Inhuman as well," Remus notes.

"Exactly."

Remus thinks. "Give me one week. I have matters to settle in London."

"We'll still be here in that time. The full moon is two days later."

"This month, we'll run under the moon together," Remus says.

"This month," Greyback repeats, finally letting go of Remus' arm.

*

The Order is moving out of Grimmauld Place. The house is Harry's now, and even if it wasn't, the Order would need new headquarters after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. People are moving past Remus, but they are all a blur as Remus sits quietly on the steps, his satchel packed next to him and his body perfectly still.

His report to Dumbledore was short, as his objective had been easily accomplished. Dumbledore had been pleased, though the very thought of the next few months make Remus' stomach turn to rot. Still, he knows he exists now only to be used, and he'd rather it be Dumbledore doing the using than Greyback, no matter what Fenrir thinks. Remus has no desire to be part of Greyback's pack, much less his successor.

The wallpaper next to him is peeling, and Remus pulls at a flake of it with two fingers, until it strips off the wall. He absently puts the spare piece of wallpaper in his pocket. Molly passes him and says something, and Remus nods in what he can only hope is an appropriate way.

Six weeks of waiting, and still Sirius no longer treads these stairs. Remus knows now that he never will again. If it weren't for Harry, and the constant ache in his own heart, Remus would not be able to find it within himself to care about anything, even a little bit. He'd rather sit there, and gather dust on the staircase, than ever move again.

But instead, with a piece of wallpaper in his pocket, Remus is the last one to leave Grimmauld Place. He blows the last candle out as he leaves, allowing the darkness to engulf the house as he walks, for the first time in his life, out of the gate and down his own long, winding path.

**Author's Note:**

> Recipient's request: Remus seemed to know an awful lot about Fenrir. What's their history? Any rating you please, actual Remus/Fenrir okay but not necessary. Alternate pairings that you'd be happy with for this scenario: Any time period, Remus in any pairing (or no pairing) is fine.


End file.
